


Dragonslayer

by CorsairLord



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-01 07:36:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15138305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsairLord/pseuds/CorsairLord
Summary: He had slain a King once.What would they call him if he slew a dragon and a Queen?





	1. A Field of Fire, A Field of Ashes

Fire.  
That was all he could see for miles.  
Fire and burning men.  
His men.  
So this is what his ancestor Loren felt at the Field of Fire.  
He saw it then.  
The Black Dread come again, its brothers nowhere nearby, as it drank from the ash black and blood red waters of the river, while it's rider tried to remove the scorpion bolt stuck into it's flank.  
And there she was, Daenerys Stormborn.  
Aerys with teats.  
He couldn't let this happen to the realm, he couldn't.  
He had slain a monarch once before, and a dragon at that.  
He could do it again.  
Or die.  
Perhaps both.  
The spear in the screamers body would work. 

“C’mon boy, C’MON!”

He charged and picked up the spear and couched it against himself.  
Dragons could be slain.  
Bloody Ben Blackwood had had Billy Burley put three arrows into a dragon’s eye during the Dance and that killed it.  
He didn't have three arrows, but he had a spear ten feet long with a steeltip.  
Only the finest for the Army of The West, his father had said.  
She saw him then, and knew who he was.  
But the beast did not.  
It did at the very last second, and moved to turn him to cinder.  
But it wasn't quick enough.  
It screamed as the spear went through its eye and into it's head.  
What a terrible thing it was, to hear a dragon scream.  
But he heard it.  
He heard it for fifteen agonizing seconds before the spear ripped through the beast's brain and he released the almost completely sunken in hilt.  
And then there was only silence, save for the horse’s whinnying and his own ragged breathing.  
Then there was a voice, soft and sad.

“Drogon?”

He turned then and saw her looking at her slain dragon.  
And he almost felt pity.  
And then he drew his sword, and shoved it through her back.  
Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, Traitor, Sisterfucker.  
What would they call him now, he wondered.

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“Seven-hundred and twenty-one. Of those, four-hundred are badly burned.”  
“By the Gods.”

He stayed silent as the captain rattled off the numbers, sitting at the makeshift command tent that they had made.  
What had been the most crushing blow was the loss of supplies. All the grain and fruit that was meant to be distributed in the West, the loyal parts of the Reach, King’s Landing and the Riverlands was lost. It would mean famine. And that would mean riots.

“Ser Jaime?”  
“What was the question?”  
“Where do we go from now?”

Another blow to the war was the loss of Randyll Tarly. He had survived until the very end of the battle, when he was cut down by a Dothraki screamer seeking vengeance for his queen. So now instead of the most hardened battle commander left from the Rebellion a green boy who should be more concerned about finding a pretty girl than ruling had taken his place.  
He had the skill in him, but it needed time to grow.

“We return to King’s Landing, have the engineers work on more of those scorpions, gather as many spearmen as we can find and go hunting. They say Daenerys Stormborn had three dragons. I killed one. That means there are still two out there. As Bronn has proven, those scorpions can pierce their hides and are fairly accurate. Afterwards-if there is an afterwards mind-we clean up the Riverlands, then the Stormlands then Dorne. Or the Martells at least. And all the while we attempt to retake the Iron Isles. By the time this war is over, every single Lord Paramountcy save for the Westerlands will be changed. Go, all of you. Get some sleep. We shan't waste an opportunity like this.”  
“Yes, Ser Jaime.”  
“Yes, Mi’lord.”

Only Bronn stayed, staring at the body wrapped in linen at the far end of the tent.

“I couldn't believe you'd done it. Jaime fookin’ Lannister, the first man to slay a Dragon, a King and a Queen.”  
“Your point?”  
“My point? My point is ya could have fookin’ died, cunt! And until I get what is owed of me, a dragon can't kill ya, you can't kill ya, only I get ta kill ya! Cunt!”  
“Are you quite finished?”  
“Yes! I am.”  
“Good. Have you ever seen Storm’s End?”  
“What? No, haven't been in the Stormlands overmuch mostly stuck to the Riverlands and King’s Landing. Why?”  
“There are no heirs to the Baratheon bloodline currently, and since Her Grace refuses to legitimize any of Robert’s bastards, it and the Stormlands are in need of a lord, and I'm sure there's a pretty girl who would simply love to be Lady Paramount."

Bronn stared at him then, before he shook his head and laughed. 

“Hehehe, fook you, Cersei would never agree to that.”  
“I bring the head of that beast back-and don't think I didn't see you snatch some of its teeth and scales for yourself-I can ask her for whatever I desire.”  
“And you'd blow your one wish as it were on me? Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't want to warm your bed.”  
“Remember that promise I made…before Dorne?”

He couldn't quite say what he wanted to then. He wanted to say when they went to rescue Myrcella. But that didn't happen.  
His daughter died in his arms. She wasn't rescued.

“Aye. I do.”  
“A Lannister always pays his debts. Always.”  
“...aye. They do. I won't follow you when you go after the other ones but I'll follow you back to Dorne. And the Isles. And anywhere else.”  
“Just not dragons?”  
“No. We got lucky, you got lucky. I don't want to test my luck anymore. I'm quite happy being Lord Paramount Bronn Blackwater, Hero of The Battle of The Blackwater.”  
“Indeed. You'll need a sigil.”  
“Oh I know. Been thinkin’ about that for a few years now.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yeah, I'm thinkin’ a ship with a stags head in bright yellow, on fire in green over blackwater.”  
“Vivid.”  
“Very. Well. I'm going to see how the trenches are then I'm going to dream of gold, naked women and big castles. Night.”  
“Goodnight, Bronn.”

He dreamed of fire and dead lions that night, and he awoke to the nightmare of Daenerys’ corpse burning him as he slept. 

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“Lord Paramount Jaime Lannister, Commander of the Army of The West and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, Lord of Casterly Rock and Lord Protector of The Realm.”

He was greeted by applause then, as he walked towards his sister, the beast’s head and the Daenerys’ corpse in tow.  
So his sister had given him his Father's titles.  
He wished she hadn't.  
He wished she'd given them to his Uncle Kevan.  
Oh.  
But his Uncle was dead and burnt to ashes in the explosion of The Great Sept.  
And the only other Lannisters were those of the Lannisport branch and they were never Kings of The Rock.  
No, he was the only male Lannister from the main line who could still hold a title.  
Kingslayer that he was, he was also Dragonslayer and Queenslayer. 

He wondered if one simply had to continue killing to achieve greatness.  
“Ser Bronn of The Blackwater, Hero of The Battle of The Blackwater, Knight and Honoured Friend of the Realm.”

He supposed that had a nice ring to it, at least.  
Although Bronn would be wishing for the same status as himself, he supposed.  
Perhaps even the Warden of The East seeing as how absent the Vale had been. 

“Lord Paramount Dickon Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill and Highgarden, Watcher of the Eastmarch, Lord Paramount of The Reach, Warden of the South and Commander of The Army of The Reach.”

At age one-and-twenty a second born son had become Lord Paramount of the second largest region in all Seven Kingdoms.  
He pitied the boy.  
He suspected that should he survive the war he and Bronn would spend much time ensuring the lords of the Reach did not overthrow him. At the very least the boy could claim descent to Garth the Greenhand Gardener through the male line. But then again so could a quarter of the Reach. 

“Brother. Lord Paramount Dickon. Ser Bronn. I am pleased you have returned to us. And with such a gift as well. The head of a dragon and the body of a madwoman.”  
“At your service, Your Grace.”  
“As was our duty, My Queen.”

He stayed silent then, even as his sister looked at him with almost worry.  
He didn't care.  
All he wanted to do was to have a bath, order the engineers to build more scorpions and burn Daenerys’ corpse before falling asleep in a storeroom.  
Far away from anyone who wished to hear how he slew a dragon and far away from any who he once loved.

“Indeed. How was such a feat accomplished I wonder? Please enlighten the court, good men.”  
“It was Lord Jaime and Ser Bronn, My Queen. Ser Bronn brought it down with a scorpion and then-”  
“And then I lanced a spear into the beast’s eye and shoved my sword through Daenerys’ back like I did her father just to your left.”

Silence reigned for a moment as the court absorbed his blasé attitude towards killing a dragon and a king.

“Uh, that's about it, Your Grace. Lord Jaime did mosta the heavy stuff, I just shot the beastie in the side.”  
“Ahh. As I suspected. Thank you, Brother for helping us with this most terrible beast.”  
Once he might have been entranced by that smile.  
Once.  
“Of course, Your Grace.”  
“Is there anything I can grant you within my power, as a thank you for slaying such a beast as well as removing a threat to the realm?”  
“Yes. Yes there is. As the Stormlands are without Lord Paramount and are in disarray due to infighting among those who declared for Stannis, Renly and Joffery, and there is no legitimate male Baratheon, I ask that you elevate Ser Bronn to Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of The Stormlands, in honour of his service to the crown, as well as his part in slaying the dragon.”

He ignored the titters of the court and the sharp look of his sister and instead concentrated on Bronn from the corner of his eye.  
He stood a little bit taller then and smiled.  
This was one debt he was rather happy to repay. 

“I find your request…granted. Ser Bronn, kneel before the Iron Throne.”  
“Aye,Your Grace.”  
“Do you swear that you and all your heirs shall protect and defend the Iron Throne and the royal family, from now until the day your line ends?”  
“I do so swear.”  
“Do you swear to only raise up arms against those who would threaten the Iron Throne and the royal family?”  
“I do so swear.”  
“Do you swear before all those before you and the Seven that you shall bring order and piece to the Stormlands and the realm at large?”  
“I do so swear.”  
“Then rise, Lord Paramount Bronn, rise and take up your title.”

It wasn't the thunderous applause he had had walking into the Throne room, but it was loud and it pleased Bronn. 

“Thank you, Your Grace.”  
“Of course, Lord Bronn. Now, Lord Dickon I understand that your father died in service to the crown?”  
“Yes he did, Your Grace.”  
“I am incredibly sorry to hear that, he was a very well respected man, as well as a steadfast friend of the crown. As such, and in light of your own blood ties to House Florent, I grant you dominion over their lands and titles. If they wished to have kept their lands, they should not have turned traitor.”  
“Thank you, truly, Your Grace. Your Grace is very kind.”  
“Thank you, Lord Dickon. Now, my lords and ladies this session of court is over and shall reconvene on the morrow. Please, feel free to inspect the head of the dragon before we mount it above the Iron Throne.”

He left with the rest of the crowd then, and began walking to the White Sword Tower before he remembered he wasn't allowed into those hallowed halls anymore. He instead walked to the courtyard and mounted his horse once more, the same one he had ridden at the Battle of The Goldroad. He hadn't named it yet, but he would.  
He rode out of the Red Keep and pretended not to hear the Lannister guards and Goldcloaks telling him to stop.  
He needed a bath, then he needed to find the engineers then he would return to the Red Keep.  
He had enough gold in his pockets to afford him one of the nicer rooms at one of the nicer brothels on the Street of Silk.  
They would have baths and soft beds. 

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	2. An Ending

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“Qyburn, where is Daenerys’ body?”  
“I'm sorry, what?”  
“Don't play the serene old man. I have no patience for it. As you are the Hand of The Queen, you will know where Daenerys’ body is.”  
“And why do you care so much for a piece of rotting flesh?”  
“I am strange that way. Now, where is it?”  
“In my laboratory. It's the only place in the Red Keep where it won't be mangled by others.”  
“And why do you care what happens to her body?”  
“I don't. I simply wished for some of it's blood and that was all. I dissect corpses and vivisect the dying not out of pleasure, and as such I did not open her up. I simply did not wish to have my source of Targaryen blood mangled before I had a chance to acquire some. I assume you know the way?”  
“I do.”  
“Good. Please close the doors once you leave, and afterwards our Queen has an important matter to discuss.”  
“Of course. And Qyburn?”  
“Yes, Lord Jaime?”  
“The scorpion you had the engineers build worked so I ordered them to begin constructing a dozen more, but they say you never brought any plans to them. Could you provide them with them?”  
“Very well, I'll send them my notes of the original as well as my improvements that I've gathered from your account and Lord Bronn’s account of it.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Of course, Lord Jaime.”

He left the odd little man to his own devices then, as he walked towards the stairs leading down to his dungeon-laboratory. There was always something just off about him. While Jaime was grateful to what he had done with healing his wound and even fitting his new hand onto him, he still did not trust him in the slightest.  
It didn't help that that seven foot tall monster that was once Gregor Clegane followed him everywhere when not with Cersei, the things eyes were filled with blood and rage. It made him uneasy that such a thing was given leave to guard his sister, and what it meant for the Kingsguard. How far they had fallen.  
At least the thing wore no White Cloak, that would be a further insult to the memory of the Kingsguard of the past.  
As he reached the door leading to the dungeon-laboratory, he was assaulted by all manner of foul smell and acrid scents that made his eyes water. Pushing the door open, he saw the body on a table, covered with a sheet, a single arm hanging out the side over a glass container filled with what he could only imagine was blood.  
He slowly walked over to the body and drew back the sheet.  
Whatever Qyburn had in his laboratory, it prevented the rot from taking purchase, as she still looked much the same as the day he had killed her.  
He lifted her arm to her side with his golden hand and held up her legs as he began to wrap her in a sheet. It was somewhat of a struggle, but he succeeded in it nicely enough.  
He picked up her body with his left arm and carried her somewhat awkwardly in his arms up the stairs, the door to the laboratory closing behind him.  
He imagined he was quite a sight then. A one handed man carrying the body of a woman he killed. He made it to the courtyard and mounted his horse, Loren, and held her body close to him so he could ride unhindered.  
She smelled of ash and Qyburn’s laboratory through the sheet. He would not place across the back of his horse like a sack of grain.  
He had dishonored her enough by allowing Qyburn to paw at her. 

“C'mon boy, let's go.”

Some called out to him as he rode through King’s Landing but for the most part he remained at a fast enough pace to be unhindered.  
The Dragonpit had been ruined for centuries now, but still smelled of smoke and death much the same as the day peasants had stormed it and killed dragons. As he rode through the ruined entrance, he noticed uneasily how the skulls of those long since burned here still protruded from the ashen soil. Their stares accusing him, of bringing the blood of one of the line that had burned them to cinder.  
He was used to it, the stares.  
Easing off of Loren he carried Daenerys to the center of the Dragonpit and placed her on the ground, before he went to Loren’s saddlebags.  
The things one finds in unused storerooms in the Red Keep was simply extraordinary. Secret passages, A king's crown-Maekar’s if he remembered his history right-and a jar of wildfire.  
He carefully opened the saddlebags and picked up the cloth wrapped jar from the hay and sand filled bag and unwrapped it, the bright green fluid shimmering brightly in the midday sun. He despised the vile stuff, but this would be the quickest way to burn Daenerys.  
Carefully, he undid the lid while he cradled the small jar in his arm, before he gently upturned it on the body and watched as the slow moving fluid spilled over the body. Slowly, he drained the last of it in a thick line over her body and trailing off of it, ending a foot away from her.  
He proceeded to look at the jar once before he threw it at the far wall, and watched as it sparked just a tad when it hit it.  
Even glass was vulnerable to the corrosive seepage of wildfire.  
He pulled out a piece of flint and began striking it against his hand, and on his tenth strike sparks flew from the now chipped hand and set the wildfire ablaze.  
Backing away at speed, he watched as the substance burned high and hard through the sheet. For a moment he could see her then, naked as the day she was born, the only thing that said she was dead was the rent from his sword between her breasts. And then the flames consumed her fully.  
He hadn't been there for Rhaegar's pyre, and he had only watched from afar at Aerys’ but he wondered if they were the same, if they carried that sense of an ending.

“I am sorry. That means nothing to you, I know. But I couldn't let you burn the Kingdoms. They've burned enough. But I am sorry.”

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	3. Sweet Poison

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“Your Grace. This is a surprise. Pleas-”  
“Jaime, drop the act. I have something important to tell you.”  
“And what is that hmm?”

Opening the door wider, he allowed Cersei to step into his rented room, but near closed it when he saw that thing following her.

“No. That stays outside.”  
“Jaime, he is a member of my Queensguard and-”  
“A dishonor to any who held the title before him. He stays outside or you can leave, sweet sister.”

She sighed wearily at that then, before she threw her hand out and motioned for him out.  
As the thing left, his sister sat herself onto the bed he had yet to sleep in yet. More often than not, he would simply sit on it in the morning and sharpen his blade. He most often fell asleep in the chair while looking over troop movements and recently come ravens. 

“I miss you.”  
“No you don't. You miss being able to fuck yourself. Perhaps you're simply waiting before you marry another King to ask me to take you like a bitch in heat.”

He hated being cruel to her, even now seeing her reach for her long locks that weren't there anymore was a sign it was working. It was the same thing she had done whenever their father had punished her.  
But he had to be cruel, to cut her away from him. To make sure that there would never be a time when she would wish for him. 

“Yes, well as I remember it I wasn't the one who promised it would feel good when they shoved their cock inside me. So far all that's brought has been pain and loss.”  
“Yes. Yes it has. And I am sorry for that. Truly.”  
“Save your pity for one who needs it.”

He stared at her then and wondered if she had always been that cold. If he had always been so enraptured by her he ignored it.  
No.  
No, he remembered the day their son asked for him to knight his kitten, had seen her laugh and smile and beg him to indulge Tommen.  
He had seen her hold Myrcella close to her breast and sing to her the same way their mother had.  
She wasn't always so cold and hard.  
He remembered a saying then, one another man reviled by most in the Seven Kingdoms had famous.  
Beneath the gold, the bittersteel.

“Very well. What do you have to tell me that is so important?”

She looked down at her hands then, and covered her stomach.

“I'm with child.”

That felt like a punch in the gut to him.  
The room began to spin slightly and when he reached out to steady himself on his table, he realized he hadn't replaced his hand and he stumbled and fell to the ground.  
Sadly their floors were not as soft as their beds.

“Jaime!”

And then she was looking over him, concerned for him and he couldn't remember why he had been so cruel to his love and his life.  
Why would he be so vile to the one who owned him, body and soul. 

“Cersei…”  
“What, what do you need?”  
“You. Only you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

He pulled her down for a kiss then and lost himself in her eyes. Her beautiful, perfect eyes.  
It wasn't long before they had pulled themselves up from the floor and made their way to the bed and they crashed into the bed against each other, before she coyly pushed him back.  
He stared at her as she dropped her black and silver dress and bared herself to him.  
She was as perfect as he remembered, from their first day in her room at the Rock to the last day in the Red Keep. 

“Jaime?”

He had stared long as his eyes traveled over her body before focusing on her face. That same cock of her head and slight frown that meant she was worried. 

“I love you, Cersei. I love you more than my life.” 

She granted him a smile then and tugged on his jacket.

“Then why do you still have this on?”

He practically ripped the black jacket off then, as well as his shirt and pants before he was just as naked as she was.  
Her eyes weren't drawn to the usual place then. They were drawn straight to his shame.  
The stump where his hand had once been.  
He moved to cover it with his golden hand before she grabbed it and held it delicately.

“I've never seen it.”  
“I didn't want you to. It's an ugly thing.”  
“Yes. But it's apart of you and you are a part of me so it is beautiful.”  
“That's a very roundabout way of saying you are beautiful, sister.”  
“Yes. But so are you.”  
She stood close to him then and slid her arms around him then and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“One heart, one soul…”  
“...one flesh, now and forever.”

The Seven would most likely have had issue in their repurposing of the septon’s words but he and his twin were far beyond caring for absent and cruel gods, and instead decided to worship that which was tangible.  
Each other.

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	4. Things Long Since Past

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“Have you been staring at me like that for long?”  
“Only my entire life.”

He smiled as she rose from his bed and went to where her dress was and bent down to pick it up before walking to the silk curtain covered window that looked out into the street. 

“You always did have an answer for everything.”

He laughed at that before he stretched his left hand to ass and caressed it.

“Do you have to leave right now? I'm sure I can convince you to stay for just a bit longer, sweet sister.”

She laughed at that, a quiet and throaty thing before she she sat back down on his bed and laid against his stomach and looked up at him.

“Just a bit, hmm? That is what you said when we were in the Kingswood seven years ago. And as I remember it, we were almost caught with your pants down and I covered in nothing but your cloak.”  
“Yes, but wasn't that fun?”  
“Yes it was…”

Cersei rose once more and lifted her legs onto the bed before she positioned herself in such a way that to see her face, he had to see past her womanhood and breasts.

“And just what are you doing?”  
“Waiting for you, of course. You've always been just a touch slower than me, Jaime.”  
“You'll never let that go will you?”  
“Of course not.”

He lifted himself against the headboard and spread her legs just a bit more before he attempted to pull her onto himself.   
The moment before he fully entered her however, was ruined when he heard that voice.

“Oi, monster, can you move out of the way me and-oh fer fucksakes-Jaime! Ask your…your friend to tell this monster to move!”  
“Why is he here?”  
“I don't know but I might kill him for it. Can you tell that thing to move? Please?”

Cersei rolled her eyes at him before she rolled off to the side of the bed and covered herself with the sheet.

“Let him in!”

Edging past Clegane, Bronn walked in to his room and promptly bowed his head to Cersei.

“Your Grace, sorry to keep ya from your fun but me and your brother have a longstanding training session in the morning.”  
“Jaime?”  
“It is true. I had hoped that he would have seen the thing at the door and known to come back later.”

Jaime pointedly glared at Bronn while he said as such before he looked back at his sister.

“Very well. It's just as well anyway, I have things to attend to and letters to write. Lord Bronn, if you would turn around?”  
“Certainly, Your Grace.”

Cersei stood up and stepped into her dress and began lacing herself up before she turned her head to Jaime. 

“Lace the back bit?”  
“Of course.”

He did so clumsily and slower than most with his left, but he managed.   
She turned around and kissed him on the lips before she broke away from him. 

“Please come back to the Red Keep, Jaime.”  
“I will. I love you.”

She smiled as she placed her boots and cloak back on.

“And I you. Lord Bronn, I bid you farewell.”  
“Goodbye, Your Grace.”

As she closed the door Bronn turned around and sat down at Jaime's desk. 

“I hate you, I hope you know that.”  
“No you don't. You're just mad you didn't get one last good time in before I came.”  
“That as well. Do you see me barging in on you when you have company?”  
“You don't know where I sleep or where I fuck.”  
“That's not the point.”  
“Sure it ain't.”  
“I hate you.”  
“No you don't.”

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“Remind me again, why are we training down here?”  
“I don't think you're ready to be seen in public training.”  
“Yes, but what about Leygood’s Wifefucking Bay?”

Bronn turned around at that and leaned against the dragon skull next to him and stuffed the torch into a large, shallow hole where something had torn through the skull. 

“Remember how I said he didn't hear us?”  
“He heard you?”  
“Yes.”  
“And he wanted to kill you and then you killed him and now you can't go back?”  
“No. Worse.”  
“Worse, how?”  
“He wanted to join in. From behind.”  
“While unorthodox, I would think you'd be used to such a sharing.”  
“Not behind her.”  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah. So we came down here. To train.”  
“Why did we grab sparring swords then? We haven't used them in a few weeks.”

Bronn picked up the torch then and continued walking down to the back of the basement.

“Personal safety.”  
“What, afraid today is the day I finally kill you on accident?”  
“Oh it won't be on accident.”  
“Why what do y-”

He stared as his little brother walked from behind a dragon skull and into the light.

“I'll leave you to it.”

Bronn strode away then, as Jaime looked at his little brother. He had grown a beard. It had been sometime since they'd seen each other. Some time since he killed their father.

“I needed to see you again. And I knew you'd never agree to meet with me.”  
Silence. 

“It cost me a very large fortune to get here. And an even larger one to talk to Bronn. He's a Lord now?”

Silence.

“You made me look like a complete fool. I'd thought I'd surprise you by hitting Casterly Rock. But you were three steps ahead of me. Abandoned the family home, completely unsentimental, Father would have been proud-”  
“Don't talk about Father.”  
“Listen to me-”  
“I once told Bronn that if I ever saw you again, I'd cut you in half.”  
“It will take you a while with a sparring sword.”

He had always admired his brother’s gift for wit. Had always found it hilarious whenever someone was flummoxed by it. Had always thought it strange when any grew angry with him for it.   
Now though. Now he understood.

“He was going to execute me. He knew I was innocent...He didn't hate me because of anything I did, he hated me because of what I am. A little monster sent to punish him. Di-did he think I wanted to be born this way, did he think I chos-”  
“What do you want!?”

He couldn't remember when he had ever raised his voice to his brother. He didn't do that. He never did that.

“To warn you. To say goodbye. To-to see you. To explain myself, I don't know!”  
“Warn me? Of what?”  
“Of the dragons, of the threat in the North, of the Dothraki and Unsullied.”  
“Why?”

Tyrion recoiled at that and stared at Jaime with a strange sadness in his eyes  
.   
“B-because you're my Brother!”

Jaime wanted to say that he wasn't, to call Tyrion a ugly misshapen thing. But he couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't hate his brother and he couldn't love his brother.

“What of the dragons then?”  
“Viserion and Rhaegel. They're not…well. They're roosting on the Dragonmont but they've already scorched at least three villages on Dragonstone and Driftmark, I'm told. They're wild...they've been wild since you killed Drogon…and Daenerys."

The last name caught in Tyrion’s throat audibly and Jaime could tell.

“You cared for her.”  
“Of course I did! She was good and bright and kind-”  
“Kind? Kind!? Was it kind when she burned my men to cinder!? Was it kind when she let those savages loose on Westeros!? That wasn't kindness, that was the Mad King come again!”  
“Do not compare her to him!”  
“Why not!? They both wanted the same thing; TO BURN THEM ALL! I saw men who I knew for years now, turned to ash and blown away in the wind! Do you know what it is like to see your nightmares play out in front of you? I do! Because I saw Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King burn men alive, and I saw his daughter do just the same two weeks ago! I killed her beast because I couldn't let the realm burn like King's Landing almost did! And I shoved my sword through her back the same way I did her father BECAUSE I KNEW WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF I DIDN'T!”

Tyrion backed away from him then, as he had unknowingly advanced upon his brother and had been almost shouting down at him then. 

“So that's it then? You're content knowing you killed a young girl that was the best chance Westeros had?”  
“If it means the Targaryens are well and truly gone and that there is one less dragon alive…yes. Yes I am. I killed her because I had to...I didn't want to. I've never wanted to.”  
“So now her head will adorn the Traitor’s Walk on the same spike Ned Stark’s did?”  
“No. I burned her body, in the Dragonpit. I...I couldn't let them do anything to it.”

Tyrion looked at Jaime with the most skeptical look in his eyes.

“Why?”  
“Do you remember Prince Rhaegar?”  
“Somewhat.”  
“I do. I remember him. I remember before the war, it was the Prince, Lord Jon Connington, Ser Richard Lonmouth and Ser Willam Mooton, myself and my sworn brothers. We were at some grand feast. And he turned to me and he called me friend. He had never done that before. But he called me friend. And I slew his father, allowed his wife and daughter to be raped and murdered, allowed his son to be murdered and allowed him to die at the Ruby Ford. And I slew his sister. I…had to make sure...that they didn't defile her. I had to. I…I owed Rhaegar that much. I've done terrible, evil things. And slaying Aerys wasn't one, but slaying Daenerys was. But it was a necessary evil. So if I can do something good…maybe I can sleep without so many nightmares.”

Jaime hadn't thought of that feast in years. It was the first and only time all of Rhaegar's friends had been together with him. It was a grand time, one that Jaime was sad to see gone.

“Thank you then. I've left a few things with Bronn. It's a journal detailing the threat in the North, as well as a few letters for Jon Snow and Sansa Stark…make peace with them, and believe my words and them, Brother. As well as where the Dothraki will be massing and where they'll likely go next. And a letter for Grey Worm, the Unsullied leader…he won't abide by it but I must have hope. I'm leaving for the Summer Isles in a days turn. I…I've nowhere in Westeros to go and I value my life. I know you hate me b-”  
“I don't hate you, Tyrion. I can't.”  
“Well. This is goodbye, brother. I hope…I hope I get to see you again.”

Tyrion turned from him then and he knew he couldn't let his brother go like that. 

“Little brother.”  
“Yes, Jaime?”  
“I hope you return one day. I hope I'll be there to greet you. I'll...I'll miss you little brother.”  
“I'll miss you.”

And then his brother walked into the darkness, and Jaime was alone.   
He hadn't realized he was crying before he felt the tears on his cheeks.   
He hoped his brother would return to Westeros one day. So that his child would know their uncle.   
He missed him already.

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	5. A Discussion on Savages and Blades

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“Lord Jaime, Lord Bronn.”  
“Dickon. You can drop the titles, we're all the same now. What have you heard?”  
“Well, L-Jaime, I have received several ravens from Houses Roxton, Crane, Oakheart and Footly regarding the screamers and the Unsullied. Lady Arwyn Oakheart reports that several hundred Unsullied have been seen near Old Oak, but that they appear battleworn by her sons estimate. Lord Parmen Crane says much the same. I believe that they are splitting off from the main army at Casterly Rock.”  
“Aye, it'd make sense. Your West Lords probably have em hemmed in and they can't move in big numbers without getting smashed to bits.”  
“Casterly Rock may be the second most defensible fortress in Westeros but it is also a prison. Trust me, I know from experience. Houses Roxton and Footly?”  
“They report that the screamers are raiding the countryside in packs and now the smallfolk are demanding protection. They've also slain Lord Jon Roxton and taken Orphan-Maker.”  
“The fuck is that?”  
“House Roxton’s Valyrian steel sword, Bronn. Why was Lord Jon leading his men in the first place? He should have stayed in the Ring and waited until they came to him.”  
“I haven't the answer, Jaime. Perhaps he was trying to be like Bold Jon?”  
“Whose that?”  
“Hero of the Dance of Dragons, killed Hugh Hammer at Second Tumbleton. Split him throat from groin.”  
“And this Roxton is related to him?”  
“Yes, Bronn. He is the eighth Lord Jon Roxton since Bold Jon.”  
“Well, Dickon, remind my little ones to never name anyone after me.”  
“Yes, Bronn.”  
“So, Jaime, who are we going after first? The savages or the cockless men?”  
“The savages. Dickon, have your men gather at the River Gate. Bronn, gather as many sellswords and hedgeknights and whoever else you can as well. Offer a knighthood, a title and land to whoever can return Orphan-Maker. I'll meet you there when the sun is directly overhead.”  
“Yes, Jaime.”  
“You know none of the cunts I have join up are going to return the damn thing if they find it.”  
“Perhaps. But it's the thought that counts.”  
“Says the man wearing half of Ice on his swordbelt.”  
“Yes, well I wasn't the one who destroyed that blade so I feel no guilt over carrying this one.”  
“Fine. All I'm saying is that out of the three of us here, me and Dickon here don't have Valyrian blades.”  
“Actually, I do. My family does really. My brother Samwell took it when he left Oldtown, but I intend to find take it back when I see him. Our sword is named Heartsbane. It's a greatsword, although it is smaller than Ice was.”  
“Well fuck me. Can I have the blade if I find it then? The Roxtons clearly are fuckwits at taking care of it.”  
“No Bronn. When we retake the Iron Isles, and we attack House Harlaw and Drumm you can have Red Rain or Nightfall. Red Rain used to belong to the Reynes of Castamere before it was stolen and Nightfall was given to House Harlaw years ago by House Greyjoy. And since they're traitors to the realm and fucking Ironborn, I don't really care if you take their blades.”  
“If I kill them both can I have both?”  
“Why do you need two Valyrian swords?”  
“Why not? One for killing and one for keeping.”  
“You are a very strange man, Bronn.”  
“That I am, Dickon. So Jaime?”  
“Fine. If you kill both the Knight of Harlaw and whichever Drumm holds Red Rain you can have them, I don't care. If anyone has an issue with it well…you're a Lord Paramount. You can handle it.”  
“That I am. Well, I'm off to the brothels. Dickon, want to get one last fuck in before we ride against hordes of screaming Dothraki?”  
“N-no, I don't.”  
“Eh, your choice. Maybe I'll see if I can't sire some bastards while I'm here. Think Her Grace will legitimize them if I ask nicely?”  
“No. She won't.”  
“Shame. C'mon Dickon, at the very least lets go get a drink while our Commander pretties himself up for battle. See ya in a few hours, Jaime.”  
“Farewell, Jaime.”  
“Goodbye, Dickon. Make sure he doesn't get too drunk while you are there, will you?”  
“I will try.”  
“That's all I ask.”

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	6. A Legend

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He looked out over King’s Landing from Cersei’s chambers and inspected the mass of soldiers gathering near the River Gate. Even from there he could see them all, arrayed in Lannister red, Tarly and Tyrell green, Tully and Frey blue and grey, and the occasional hint of Baratheon yellow. More still were simply a dull steel grey or brown hue, the hedgeknights, sellswords, broken men and Essosi expatriates who Bronn had gathered with promises of land and titles for those who made their mark.  
He had come to say goodbye to his sister, but she was still busy holding court, and he had arrived to an empty chamber, save for an exquisite suit of armour that he was sure Cersei had made for him. A gift for him, for slaying the dragon queen.  
It was same lacquered leather and wood armour he had had before but is was different as well. On the chest, there was now a stylized dragon’s skull with a spear run through it. It felt heavier as well, with good reason. The metal inserts had been made from dragonbone, black as iron and stronger than steel. While ill-suited for swords, it made fantastic armour pieces. The leather and wood paneled thigh armour had been done away with, with more well fit leather cuisses that wrapped around most of the front and back. The gorget had been integrated into the breastplate itself, as well as a higher leather collar. Special consideration had been take with his right arm, as it appeared to have a permanent gauntlet that connected to the rest of the armour.  
Overall it impressed him greatly. He wondered who Cersei had commissioned to make such a piece. As well as where she had received the gold.

“You like it?”

She smiled at him from the open door, before she closed it and made her way to the stand and Jaime and kissed him before inspecting the armour. 

“I do. Who made it?”  
“Tobho Mott. In exchange for a hefty purse, some dragon teeth and the promised deaths of a few men, he made this. He says it is the best armour he has ever forged. I believe he is right.”  
“How hefty of a purse?”  
“Nothing but a drop in the bucket thanks to your sacking of Highgarden and pieces of the beast’s carcass we've sold to Volantene nobles and Qohorik priests, as well as the Freys’ very large coffers, duly seized by the Crown in the event of their most unfortunate extinction. The Iron Bank has been repaid in full, and ten-year loans of the same size as before secured.”  
“And how did the Riverlords take it when you confiscated the Freys gold?”  
“I explained our connections of blood, via Aunt Genna, as well as the Freys many promises to the Crown that they left unfulfilled. As it stands, many in the Riverlands are more concerned for food with the coming winter than gold, as well as who to is their Lord Paramount.”  
“And what about food for the winter?”  
“As soon as I had secured loans from the Iron Bank, I sent envoys to Pentos, Myr, Tyrosh, Lys and several of the Summer Isles. Within three months time, I expect King’s Landing’s harbours to be filled to the brim with ships filled with preserved fruits, meats and grain.”

He smiled at his sister then. She had always said she was as smart as their father-and while he believed her-he had rarely seen it.

“And the Riverlands Lord Paramount?”  
“That is a trickier issue. Euron has made several attempts to allow him to recreate the Kingdom of the Isles and Rivers, but I'm not stupid enough to allow that. So far, none of the Riverlords have stood out in terms of loyalty or prowess in anything. They're still as loyal to the Tullys and The Starks as they were when Robb Stark still lived. I'm half tempted to split them between the Westerlands, the Reach and the Crownlands but they'd never accept it.”  
“Is Edmure Tully still alive?”  
“For now. I've had Lord Damon Marbrand keep him with him at all times. He's been a great help in the Riverlands. And I remember Addam Marbrand, who is accompanying his father.”  
“Do you remember Rosamund?”  
“She was to accompany…yes, I remember her.”  
“Have Tully brought to King's Landing, have him bend the knee, wed him to Rosamund and make him Lord Paramount of the Riverlands again. It's not ideal-”  
“It's rewarding a traitor-”  
“-who fought for his kin who are all gone now. You can't tell me you don't at least understand why he fought. The Riverlords are still loyal to House Tully, good. Use that. When they have their second son have him sent to Casterly Rock or King’s Landing.”

She glared at him coolly then before she sighed and shook her head. 

“It's the best option.”  
“I believe it is.”  
“Very well. I'll pen a letter to Lord Damon later. Shall I have a squire be fetched to help you into the armour?”  
“Yes, that'd be welcome.”  
“I will tell Ser Greenfield to fetch one then. As soon as I say goodbye properly. Sit on the bed.”  
“You don't have to. If you don't want to.”

She laughed then, taking off her crown as she did so. She had been doing that more and more lately. He liked it that way. 

“Of course I don't have to. I don't have to do anything I do not wish to do. But this? This I so very much wish to do.”  
“Well then who am I to stand in way of Her Grace’s wish?”  
“The handsome and proud warrior who still has his pants on, that is who.”

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“What did I tell you Dickon, our commander has gone and gotten himself all prettied up. Where did you get that armour, Jaime?”  
“It was a gift. From the Queen.”  
“Her Grace is very generous. It is a fine suit of armour, Jaime.”  
“Thank you, Dickon. How many of your men did you manage to gather?”  
“A little more than three thousand, Jaime. Most are veterans of the Goldroad, and a sizeable number are from the Tyrell host that survived the explosion of the Great Sept of Baelor. Bronn and I have also managed to collect a large number of former Riverlander and Stormlander men as well.”  
“He's the right of it. Not more than a thousand all together but enough. With your westermen and the cunts I managed to persuade to follow me, we stand at little over ten thousand strong.”  
“Do you think it will be enough?”  
“Against a dragon? No. Against some of them Dothraki screamers or the cockless men? Probably. We give them all a long sharp stick and they'd do alright. Give them long sharp sticks, shields and some archers and tell them Lord Jaime Fookin’ Lannister the Dragonslayer, Lord Bronn Blackwater the Hero of the Blackwater and Lord Dickon Tarly the…well nothing yet are leadin’ ‘em and they'll do real well.”  
“You think?”  
“I know. C'mon tell me you didn't see ‘em oglin’ you when you rode over, like some great hero. I mean look at yourself. Fancy armour, a Valyrian sword at yer side, and the name Dragonslayer.”  
“Bronn has a point, Jaime. They look up to you.”  
“Y’see? Even Dickon can see it. You're not just famous now, Jaime. You're becoming a legend.”  
“Yes, the legend of Jaime the Onehanded, who died when a Dothraki killed his horse and he split his head open against a nearby rock. What a great legend.”  
“It's better than the legend of the Kingslayer who fucked his sister, isn't it?”

Jaime glared at Bronn malevolently before he shifted his eyes to Dickon, who was pointedly fiddling with his horse’s saddle as the men passed them out of the River Gate.

“I suppose it is, considering that baseless accusation.”  
“Mhmm. I'm not judging, if the accusations weren't baseless-which they are. You and your family’s been good to me and I'm sure Dickon will agree. Right Dickon?”  
“Yes. I agree, only under the previously stated premise.”  
“See? He agrees. Now accept your fate as a legend and be happy about it. Only thing you can do. Well, one of two of the things you can do.”  
“And what's the other Bronn?”  
“Take that golden stick up yer arse and see if you really do shit gold.”  
“Why do I keep you around?”  
“Because you still can't fight worth shit.”  
“If I pay you to shut up, will you?”  
“Sure. But that'll likely bankrupt the realm.”  
“I hate you.”  
“No you don't.”

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	7. Red River

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“Those with shields, in front! Those with spears, behind them! Those with bows, behind the spears! Those with none of those things, pick up some stones and get behind the spears! Those who're mounted, do not engage the Dothraki, they will win!”

They had been lucky, he decided. A lone rider had met them on the Roseroad twenty-odd miles from Tumbleton near the muddy and shallow banks of the Mander and had warned them of an encroaching Dothraki horde of a million men. They decided it was most likely a large warband of a thousand or more and sent the man on his way before they had set up on a semisolid sandbar that rose the Mander.   
The plan was simple enough: they would force the Dothraki to either charge their spears and drown them in the Mander or they would force them to attempt to overtake them by circling around, which would force the Dothraki to tire their horses even more.

“He's half decent at war really. Not as good as old hands like me or you, but he's no idiot.”  
“Indeed. He's Randyll Tarly’s favorite son for a reason. How many warbands like this one are running through the Reach?”  
“Good question. Better one, how many screamers did that silverhaired cunt bring with her?”  
“Too many. As far as Qyburn knows, she had a thousand ships, and eight thousand Unsullied. At best she only brought four thousand screamers.”  
“And the real number?”  
“Sixteen thousand.”  
“Well fuck. How many of those horsefuckers do you think we killed at the Goldenroad?”  
“Not enough. That wasn't the bulk of them. That was a distraction while the dragon burned us.”  
“And then I shot it and you killed it. We're a good team, y'know?”  
“But you still want to be paid.”  
“Of course. I'm a Lord Paramount now. I figure I'm worth…seven times what you paid me before. Just because I like you Lannisters doesn't mean I'm not going to charge you.”  
“And what does it mean?”  
“Means that no one is going to be able to pay me to betray you.”  
“What, you'll never betray me or House Lannister, even if someone offers you money?”  
“No. They just won't be able to afford it.”  
“Of course. If it helps, we Lannisters like you as well.”  
“You and your brother, sure, you're sister? Oh…she hates me.”  
“Well I ha-”

A horn sounded then, breaking the banter between the two men and causing them to turn their attention to the southwestern crest of the nearby hills.   
There they were, an veritable tide of human and horse bearing down on them. 

“That's not a thousand.”  
“No you fookin’ cunt, that's TEN THOUSAND!”  
“Dickon!”

The young Tarly came riding up to them then, a worried look on his face as he stared at the Dothraki and they're shaky line.

“Stay with the archers, don't let them break! Send in the rest once the Dothraki hit the shieldwall!”  
“Yes, Jaime! Hold men! Hold! We will hold and we will break them!”

The Dothraki were still fairly far away, but Jaime knew it was but a minute before they would be upon them, and this was no distraction. This was what had conquered Sarnor, Essaria, and the Lost Ghiscari Kingdoms. This was the power of the Dothraki.   
And he would break before he allowed them to live on his home’s soil one day more.

“Listen well men! We may despise each other after these past few years, but today we are one people: Westerosi! And today is the day we teach those screaming savages what that means! They wish to throw themselves on our spears?! So be it! They wish to fight against veterans of the War of The Five Kings, the battle of the Goldroad!? So be it! Today I don't want you to fight for me, for the Iron Throne or even for yourself! Today I want you to fight to KILL!”

He was met with a great cheer then, and smiled grimly as he practically felt the bloodlust of the men. They were screaming right back at the Dothraki then, curses and promises of death, litanies of vengeance and catechisms of hate.   
As the Dothraki grew closer, the men only screamed fiercer.   
When the first Dothraki was lain low by arrows, they screamed louder.   
And when the tide of horseriders crashed into their wall of shields, they screamed even louder.   
He urged Loren forward then, as he drew Widow's Wail. It didn't matter that he could barely swing the sword in a manner that would make a squire ashamed. You didn't need any special talent to swing blindly into a mass of enemies.   
He rode at what appeared to be a thinner portion of the sandbar and stabbed Widow's Wail into a lone screamers skull before he pulled the blade out and slashed into the mass of Dothraki that were pushing against the shieldwall.  
He could feel as his sword caught on the Dothraki, as it took a life. Each time he swung low over his men's heads, he saw a ribbon of blood follow the blade on the upswing. Each time he brought the sword down, he could see a Dothraki fall into the bloody mud below. Each time he swung at a horse's head, it would rear it's rider into the air before collapsing against its fellows.  
Taking a moment to account for his fellow Lord Paramounts, he saw Dickon firing a tall yew longbow with surprising accuracy at any Dothraki who slipped around the shieldwall’s sides, while Bronn was using his Hyrkooni kurkuri and bastard sword to hold off any screamers that went over the shieldwall and ran at the archers.   
He instinctively raised his right hand as he saw a Dothraki bringing down his arakh on him from the corner of his eye, and watched as it became stuck between his golden index fingers and thumb, a repeat of the trick he pulled off in Dorne.  
Without missing a beat, he stabbed his blade into the offending Dothraki’s chest and shook the arakh out of his hand.   
As soon as he had stabbed the Dothraki the rest of them seemed to begin to break away or attempt to, with many being cut down by archer fire, and the charge of many of the outriders, freeriders, mounted lancers and hedgeknights at the behest of Bronn. As he watched the shattered remnants of the warband ride away he noticed the mound of corpses at the shieldwall. It was no wonder the Dothraki had been able to slip over the shieldwall, as the corpses of the first wave had proven a good hill for them to ride upon.   
The waters of the Mander would flow red for a week on he thought. 

“Jaime.”  
“Dickon. Good shooting. Very good.”  
“Should we give chase?”  
“No. No, that'll only tire us out. No. We make our way to Bitterbridge, have Lord Lorent Caswell pay you fealty, then camp right on top of the bridge and inside the keep. How many do you think we killed?”  
“A good number, perhaps four or five thousand. We held them.”  
“Oh, yes we held them. And that speech ya gave about killin’ and and being Westerosi? Great stuff. Now, I'm going to see what I can find on these dead bastards. That half-handed bastard Mullendore bet me his new monkey that I wouldn't be able to find at least a hundred crowns on these cunts. And I want that monkey.”  
“Bronn, why are you betting with my bannermen over monkeys?”  
“Because, Dickon, he gets all them highborn ladies to come and pet the monkey and half an hour later he's petting them.”

Jaime observed the back and forth between Dickon and Bronn with some manner of amusement. While the Dothraki were still a threat, and their casualties were unknown, the day-for the time-was theirs and they should savour every victory.   
If that meant arguing over why you can't just bet another Lord Paramount’s bannermen over a monkey, so be it. 

“And what do you lose if he wins? If you can't find a hundred crowns?”  
“One of the dragon teeth I requisitioned from the beast’s head.”  
“You could have just bought the monkey from him, Bronn.”  
“What? And lose out on a chance to make gold and get a monkey? Took a few to many hits to the head, did you Jaime?”  
“No, but you're about to.”  
“Oh that's-”

Another horn sounded then, but from behind.   
They hadn't fled.   
They were flanking them.

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	8. Bitter Truths

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“He dies, and yer fookin’ head is the next one that goes on toppa spike.”  
“Please, Ser-”  
“Lord.”  
“Please, Lord Bronn, I must work. I assure you that we will do all we can for Lord Tarly. We have already sent for the Archmaester of the Healing Arts from the Citadel.”  
“He better get here as quick as he can then, because if Dickon dies before he gets here, I doubt he'll be able to heal from what I do to him.”

Jaime watched as Bronn walked away from the Bitterbridge maester, an older man with a chain that drooped down over his chest named Garner who was tending to Dickon.  
The attack from behind was hideous and almost ended their campaign against the Dothraki there, but they managed to break them when Dickon had charged the flank of the oncoming third wave of screamers with what few real knights they had, causing them to break in the center allowing the spearmen to envelop them. It had cost Dickon dearly though as the Dothraki leader wielding Orphan-Maker had run Dickon through the stomach with it. It was a bad wound that had festered along the Roseroad, and Jaime was worried not only about the future of the Reach, but Dickon’s life.  
The man had saved his own life and was a good man at heart, loyal and steadfast.

“Any ravens from the capital?”

It had been a fortnight since they had camped at the Bitterbridge, as Dickon was far too weak to move as well as effectively blocking the remaining Dothraki stragglers from roaming the northern Reach as effectively, given Bitterbridge’s central location and the many long patrols Jaime and Bronn had instituted. Aside from a few ravens from Reachmen houses sending a few more of their levies and House Roxton’s pledge of eternal loyalty to House Tarly, nothing had come.

“No, not yet. So far the only ravens we got are for his Lord Horsearse.”  
“And?”  
“Guess who told the rest of the Reach about Dickon?”  
“Is he planning on killing Dickon and trying to take the Reach for himself?”  
“Not with how many lords have written him back tellin’ him to fuck right off.”  
“Anyone support his idea?”  
“No. Most didn't even write back, just sent the raven back.”  
“Well let's go pay a visit to his Lord Horsearse then.”  
“Yea, lets.”

As they marched forth from the Maester’s tent on top of the Bitterbridge, they walked past their men and made their way to the Caswells’ keep.

“Halt, men. Who seeks entrance to Stonebridge Keep?”

They looked up from the main gate to see a man wearing the yellow centaur on white of House Caswell, likely a household guard.

“Lord Paramounts Jaime Lannister and Bronn Blackwater.”  
“Oh. Give us a second to raise the gate, my Lords.”

As the two men watched the gate rise, Jaime idly fiddled with the permanent gauntlet over his goldenhand. Occasionally he could still feel his right hand, and it caused him no end of pain. Perhaps it was the Seven’s curse for all his evil he committed with that hand. Or perhaps it was simply because he missed it.  
As the gate rose, a wispy man appeared, Lord Lorent Caswell, a knight by virtue of being the only son of Leo Caswell.  
As he walked towards the two Lord Paramounts he was flanked by two large men bearing House Caswell’s colours. 

“Lord Bronn, Lord Jaime, to what do I owe the pleasure? Has there been a change in Lord Dickon’s health?”  
“Yes, indeed. He wishes to thank you for sending your maester to help him, as well as discuss certain things in private. He is very tired however, and cannot leave the maester’s tent.”  
“Of course. I will speak with him then. I'll see to our Lord Paramount alone, men.”  
“Great, this way then.”

As Bronn led the way to the command tent, Jaime noticed that his kurkuri was absent from its sheath. Violence always did solve most of their problems.  
Walking past the the maester’s tent, they stepped inside the command tent and Bronn grabbed Caswell by the throat and shoved him against the map table.

“Now listen cunt. I don't like you. I hate you. You're tryin’ to take a hold of the Reach even though this is first time I'm hearing about you. So. Whose payin’ you to suck their cock and betray Dickon. And don't lie.”  
“I-I haven't a clue what you're GU-”

Bronn brought his blade up to Caswell’s neck while Jaime looked outside to see if anyone had heard that.

“We good?”  
“Yes. Now Lorent, this can end one of two ways for you. You can be honest and tell us who you're working for-because this is clearly not your plan-or you can be an idiot. You being an idiot means your long and prestigious line comes to an end. There are far more loyal men to hold Bitterbridge than yourself. Like that Ser Owain. You know him Bronn?”  
“The one with the green mermaid on the shield? Calls himself Knight of The Mander, that one? Yeah I know him. Was apart of Dickon’s charge. Yeah. Yeah he'd be a lot better than Lord Horsearse.”  
“So what shall it be, Caswell? You tell us the truth and you live within certain… restrictions. Or you keep quiet and Bronn opens your throat and we go and congratulate Ser Owain of his new position as Lord of Bitterbridge.”

Caswell nodded his head quickly before Bronn removed his hand, but kept his knife at the man's throat.

“Greyjoy. Euron Greyjoy. He-he sent me a raven a week ago. He knew where Lord Tarly was. How sick he was. He said he could make me rich and powerful. Said the Queen wasn't as powerful as he was. He promised me Highgarden and the Manderford. He said I'd be the Centaur King of the Reach, that all I have to do is pledge my support to him once he sent his Ironborn to the Riverlands.”

That changed things. He knew the Kraken couldn't be trusted, he knew. But he didn't know he'd be willing to cause a succession crisis in the Reach.  
The thought also set him on edge regarding how they hadn't received any letters from the capital yet. It was unlikely that Euron would attack there first, but stopping any ravens from leaving…that would be a good way to cut off communication. 

“We have problems.”  
“Yes we do.”  
“S-so you won't kill me now, right?”  
“Oh no, Lord Caswell. How could we kill such a loyal man such as yourself. Pledging every single member of your levy and even castle garrison to Lord Tarly’s cause even joining us for the remainder of our campaign, to lose such a man as yourself would be a travesty.”  
“B-but the savages-”  
“Will tremble before us as you join us. We truly appreciate you and your loyalty.”  
“You can't-”  
“Oh but he can, cunt. He's the Lord Paramount of the West and the man who killed a dragon. He could fuck a whore over the ashes of the Great Sept and they'd clap for him. You think you matter? You don't. You're nothin’. Accept that and you might live. Don't and I'll kill ya.”

Bronn released Caswell and sheathed his kurkuri and straightened out the map of the western part of Westeros on the table.

“Did Euron tell you where in the Riverlands he was going to attack?”  
“No. He just said the Riverlands.”  
“Most likely Ironman’s Bay.”  
“Wouldn't attack Seagard, would he? He's too quick for that. Kannet?”  
“Maybe. The Mallisters still haven't bent the knee to my knowledge. And since the Freys are all dead and gone, there's not many men in the Riverlands we can task with holding the Bay.”  
“There's not many men in the Riverlands, period.”  
“That as well. I wished to push through to the Westerlands after we finished most of the Dothraki…we will have to go back to the capital and then to the Riverlands.”  
“Hear that, Lord Horsearse? You're going to be doing what most of us have been doing for the past five years: fightin’ in the fookin’ Riverlands.”

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	9. Third Tumbleton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm back.
> 
> This Chapter brought to you by Denzel Curry's new album, Ta13oo, without which I wouldn't have been as inspired for other later chapters. And with this we're back in the swing of things

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The march back up the Roseroad was slow going as they frequently had to make stops for their men were still battered from the Battle of the Mander and Dickon was only just recovering from his wound. Even now as he road atop a gentle pony instead of his regular charger, his skin was unnaturally pale and his breathing shallow. The Archmaester had warned that the wound would not heal properly if Dickon continued on the campaign, but he had been insistent that he lead his troops, just as his father would.   
Jaime hoped that his desire to live up to his father's example wouldn't kill Dickon. Jaime had long since abandoned any hope of living up to Tywin. It was no matter anyway, for their were no men like him. There was only him.  
As they reached Tumbleton once more Jaime could just make out King’s Landing on the horizon, as he stared to the east. It was an immaterial thing from this far away, real but not at the same time. He wondered how often he had stared out from the high towers of the Red Keep in all directions, yet never really saw beyond King’s Landing. It was a terrible place to live but it was the city he saved and he would die before it fell in his lifetime. It was not his home however. His home wasn't a place so much as a feeling. Of comfort. He never felt that in Casterly Rock after his Mother passed. He never felt that in the White Sword Tower. No, he felt it when he was in the saddle. When he was with Cersei. That was his home.   
Turning away from the far-away city, he saw Lord Regent Gareth Roxton-the younger brother to the late Lord Jon Roxton, and regent for his four-year old nephew Jon Roxton the Ninth-riding next to Dickon and quietly conversing with him. He was a decent man, and had been most thankful for the return of his family's blade and since joining the host at Bitterbridge had taken to not straying far from Dickon’s side, as well as providing input on the campaign into the Riverlands.  
To their left he saw Bronn and Ser Owain-now Lord Owain Mandermaid thanks to a grant of land at the Manderford in recognition of his bravery-riding with a very uncomfortable Lord Lorent Caswell. While he had been loyal so far, Bronn still liked to remind him of his place in the world and ensure that he stayed that way.   
The slow march had given him a chance to go over the journal Tyrion had left him however, and for that he was thankful. In it, Tyrion had made detailed observations of several of Daenerys’ strongest supporters, her dragons, Jon Snow, Sansa Stark and in his view of Westeros in general. From what Jaime had read, the Unsullied were led by a man who had taken the name Grey Worm and who was supremely competent in his commanding of the now freed Unsullied, having been chosen by him. The Dothraki had been commanded mostly by Daenerys and had fractured into many minor factions with her death, eventually becoming dominated by two rival warbands-or khalasars as Tyrion noted. One was led by two of Daenerys former bloodriders and members of her Queensguard, Ko Malakho and Ko Kovarro who were more loyal to the cause of Daenerys and fought in her memory, refusing to take the title of Khal. The other was led by Khal Qhono, a Dothraki who had only followed Daenerys after she burned his Khal and the other Kos alive. Those who followed him were who he had faced recently, and the stronger of the two. At least they were before they defeated them at the Battle on the Mander, and now the Dothraki still on Dragonstone were now the strongest left. Jaime hoped that the Dothraki leader that wielded Orphan-Maker and was killed by Dickon was Qhono, but he had learned not to hope as much nowadays. The dragons that still lived-Rhaegel and Viserion-were apparently nesting in the Dragonmont, among the bones of Grey Ghost and Cannibal, and despite attempts by several of the dragonseeds of Dragonstone and Driftmark, the two were still as uncontrollable as they had been since the death of Daenerys and their brother, Drogon. While not as large as Drogon, they were still dragons, and were predisposed to certain behaviors. While Viserion was violent and cruel-preferring to play with his victims as they burned-he was incredibly agile and seemingly hyperaware of any threat. Rhaegel on the other hand was brutally efficient and cunning, oftentimes preferring to glide among the clouds or slowly creep along the ground before killing his prey quickly and carefully. Jaime was already wondering how they would be able to kill the beasts, that by Tyrion’s account were just as dangerous as Drogon was now that Daenerys was dead.  
Tyrion’s notes on Jon Snow and Sansa Stark however were rather different from the rest of the journal, as the tone was different from his brother’s usual cynically whimsical tone and instead hopeful.   
Jon Snow was no longer the Lord Commander and instead was the King in The North, by right of blood and conquest, and had won the against Ramsay Snow with an army of Northmen, Night's Watch Brothers, Wildlings, and the Knights of The Vale. They called him the White Wolf, for his now extraordinarily large albino direwolf. He had named Ser Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight of all people his Hand and set about preparing the North for war once more, although Tyrion had noted that it did not seem to be against the South.   
His brother’s notes on Sansa Stark were a far cry from the scared girl who his son had ordered beaten. After being forced to marry the Bolton Bastard-no doubt a traumatic experience-she had sought the help of The Vale of Arryn through Littlefinger and had become colder and harsher, as well as far more cunning. While his brother spoke of her almost fondly, he made it clear that she was no longer a scared pup, and rather a she-wolf. Alongside this, Jaime noted an undercurrent that ran through about the last Stark children: They remembered every slight and tragedy that had befallen their House and while they would not seek vengeance now, they would inevitably.   
All together the journal had provided him little comfort, but extraordinary amounts of information regarding the enemies that still were arrayed against them. A shame that his brother hadn't known about the Kraken, otherwise he could have had information on him as well. 

“Rider approaching!”

Looking ahead, he saw a man in black chainmail and grey cloth surcoat holding a banner with the caltrops of House Footly, the House that had held the town since it had first been a city, prior to the Treasons of Tumbleton. He had never dealt with any of the Footlys personally but from what Lord Gareth Roxton and Dickon had told him, they seemed much like any small and non-Lannister related house in the West: Careful and measured. 

“On behalf of Lord Dennly Footly, I have come to welcome you to Tumbleton, Lords. My lord has prepared a small feast for you, and we've a copse outside the city gates where your men can set up camp. If you would follow me?”  
“Yes, thank you good ser.”  
He thought Dickon sounded just a tad better today, if only because he didn't sound so winded.   
“Lord Owain, if you would lead the men to the copse, then return to us?”  
“Yes, Lord Jaime. Lord Dickon.”

Nodding to Dickon, Lord Owain took command of the men as they split off from the main road and to where the copse lay, according to the outrider.  
As the party of the Lords and lord’s sons rode with the outrider to Tumbleton, Jaime sidled up to Bronn and Lord Lorent Caswell and spoke just loud enough to be heard over the horses. 

“Do you think any ravens have come from King’s Landing?”  
“Aye. Just not the ones we care about, just enough to make sure they don't suspect somethings up.”  
“I thought as much.”  
“Head up, Jaime, we'll kill the Greyjoy and see if them Ironborn really bleed saltwater and ink.”  
“I know. It does not make it easier.”  
“No. No it don't.”

As they entered Tumbleton, Jaime felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up for a second and looked around.   
No smallfolk in the streets and the only guards were high up on the walls, with crossbows.   
That was enough for him. 

“Ambush!”

In a moment the street erupted with the sounds of violence, with several men spurring their horses in different direction while other fell from theirs, as he could see several with bolts in their chest and back on the ground, Jaime dug his spurs into Loren as he felt a sharp pain spread through his lower right side.   
As he rushed forward to Dickon and Lord Gareth Roxton he heard Lord Caswell’s gurgle as a bolt lodged itself into his mouth.  
Reaching them, he spurred Dickon’s horse forward while Bronn did the same with Roxton’s as they fled deeper into the town.   
They did not escaped unscathed however, as Jaime knew that sharp pain he felt was likely a bolt that had splintered the lacquered wood and leather, and he could see Lord Roxton’s left leg dripping blood as a wooden shaft stuck out from just above his knee.   
As the four of them rode down another small road in an attempt to throw off any pursuers, Jaime couldn't help but imagine the Greyjoy laughing.   
He couldn't wait to quarter the bastard.

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End file.
